Occasionally I write poetry. I am not a poet, anymore than the man who paints his bathroom is an artist, or the woman who sews a button is a seamstress. However, I am a sinner, and truth be told a rather successful one at that. I know what it means to fall, and I know how much easier it seems, at least for a while, to simply stay down. Staying down is a surrender to evil, and as such it is a vice. And as with all vice, the longer one wallows in it, the harder it is to break free of. Sometimes we not only need someones help to move forward, but we need them to push us, taking us by the hand and pulling us from the depths that lead to death.
Fully aware of my limitations, myriad that they are, I write anyway. Every so often I write something that I like, and this is one of them. Your comments are appreciated, and your prayers appreciated even more so.
Happy Sunday, and God love you,
The old man asked the crying boy, "Why do we fall down?"
The boy looked up through teary eyes, unsure of what to say.
"So that we may rise again, my son...that we may rise again."
Stooping down, he took the boy's small scraped and fragile hand
and standing tall, he pulled the boy and helped him again to stand.
"Now throughout life, when you look down and see a fallen man,
you must do as I have done, that he too may rise again."